


Matchmaker, Matchmaker

by Thunderdaughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 11:55:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderdaughter/pseuds/Thunderdaughter
Summary: Queenie Kowalski, recently widowed after a life raising kids and running a bakery in London with her Jacob, takes up a new career as a healer to keep herself from wallowing in her grief. She's hired to see if she can use her particular talents, as the strongest Legilemens ever identified, to reach the minds of a couple too long lost to the world. But she finds their son needs her gifts as much as they do - and how can she resist the chance to play matchmaker?





	1. A New Job for an Old Lady

Queenie took a deep breath, as she carefully looked around to make sure no No-Maj's were watching (even after seventy-some years in Britain, the word "muggle" still sounded odd to her, as if it should be referring to a baby hedgehog, or an overbred lapdog), and stepped through the window carefully. The abandoned department store she had been entering shifted, becoming a tidy, well-kept hospital. She straightened her equally-tidy uniform with some pride, and headed for the main desk, a host of butterflies dancing in her stomach. Her usual sunny confidence faltered a bit as she felt the press of all the curious minds around her. _I'm nearly a hundred years old, what am I doing starting a new career? Just a little old lady, I should be at home with my knitting and my grandchildren_...but, she reminded herself sternly, there's a good half-century in me yet, and I can't just stay at home wallowing in my widowhood and missing Jakie. _Oh, honeypie, I hope the afterlife don't separate witches and no-Majs the way MACUSA tried to, because there ain't no heaven without my Jakie. You wouldn't be that cruel, would you, G-d?_ She shook her head firmly, dismissing the thought and replacing it with a better one. _I can do some good here, there's patients no one else can reach._

That thought firmly in mind, she smiled brightly at the Welcome Wizard on duty. "Good morning, young man. I'm Queenie Kowalski, the new mind-healer assigned to the Janus Thickey Ward."

She felt the Healer's confusion, along with a bit of concern for her mental state. _This is the new one? But she's old enough to be my grandmum! Can I be sure she isn't a patient gotten loose?_

"If I were your grandma, young man, you'd have better manners than that." She raised an eyebrow firmly at him, and he quailed before her. "And you wouldn't be so skinny. You don't eat enough. Hard work's a fine thing, but you've gotta take care of yourself before you can take care of other people. I'll bring muffins tomorrow. Now, the Janus Thickey Ward, please?"

"Er, yes, ma'am." _Definitely the Legilemens, I should have known better..._ rang in his mind, and she grinned to herself. "Fourth floor, through the double doors. Er...ma'am? You're here to work with the Longbottoms, are you?"  


"Yes, that's right. Old friends of Minister Shacklebolt - he's hoping I can reach their minds."

"If you can...we'd all be glad. I was an orderly on their floor for a while. They're good people, we can tell, even though they can't...and they're heroes, you know, and their son too."

She felt his genuine fondness and sorrow, and her heart warmed to him. "I'll do my best, honey, be sure of that."

"Thank you, ma'am." There was real gratitude behind his words.

_They must be some kinda folks, to get people so fond of 'em even after they ain't themselves anymore._

It was obvious who was in charge on the fourth floor, even if Queenie hadn't been able to read minds. A tall, salt-and-pepper-haired witch with kindly eyes that managed to soften, just a bit, her upright posture and brisk self-assurance, came over to greet her as soon as she opened the door. She said only, "Good morning," but thought _Are you the new mind-healer, the Legilemens?_

She grinned. A perfect test. "That's me. I'm Queenie Kowalski. Pleasure." She extended a hand, which the other woman took, applying a precisely firm-but-not-painful grip.  


"I'm Araminta Wriothesley, Chief Healer on this Ward, and the pleasure is mine. You'll want to meet your primary patients, of course."

Queenie followed in the other woman's wake, but as they skirted a curtained bed, the curtains parted and a handsome but somewhat vacant middle-aged man looked out at her with delight. "A fan! Of course, you must be! It's your lucky day, I've just spent all morning autographing these pictures. One for you, and do take some home for your little kiddies, you'll absolutely brighten their day."

His mind was almost blank of rational thought, and rather reminded her of a cross between a golden retriever puppy and a spoiled housecat - most of his mental state was taken up by an absolute conviction that he was the center of the universe and that everyone present was his fawning admirer. She probed, gently, for his name, and found the words _Gilderoy Lockhart_ engraving themselves on the surface of her mind, in fancy swirls and little gold sparkles. She almost giggled at the image, but kept her composure.

"Now, now, Mr. Lockhart. Mustn't tire yourself out before your big talk this afternoon. You'll disappoint your fans." To Healer Wriothesley's credit, she sounded quite genuine, but Queenie could hear the mental eyeroll, sigh, and snort behind her skull. Clearly an exasperating patient. But he quieted at the Chief's words, gave her a salute, and went back behind his curtain.

_He was the greatest master of the Obliviate spell ever known - but he misused it terribly and it rebounded on him in the end. Can't say I'm sorry - he did an awful lot of damage before he was stopped._ Wriothesley thought at Queenie, she noticed, instead of just letting her pick up on surface thoughts as most people did. She approved. It was a useful way of briefing her without embarrassing or upsetting the patients.

Healer Wriothesley stopped before a curtained enclosure, twice the size of Lockhart's, and opened the curtains gently. "Good morning, Mr. Longbottom, Mrs. Longbottom. How are you today? I've brought a new healer to meet you today. This is Healer Kowalski. Healer Kowalski, these are Alice and Frank Longbottom." There was a warmth in her voice that had not been present for Gilderoy Lockhart, Queenie noted.

The man sitting on the bed ignored her, his sunken eyes and drawn face focused on nothing. Queenie felt a deliberate blankness from him, a barrier she could not cross, that blocked out everything in the outside world except...as the curtains had opened, she had caught an image of a young man's face, just briefly, and a sense of inquiry, as if he was expecting, hoping for a particular visitor. "I'm not him, I'm sorry. Is he your son?"

_Son..._ the word rang in his mind, clearly a powerful word, tinged with deep love and pride, but words seemed to hold no meaning for him any more, only a swirl of images which quickly retreated behind the barrier

The word had caught the attention of the woman sitting on the other bed, however, and she looked up from the bedsheet she was crinkling and uncrinking in her hand, her big, too-dark eyes seeking Queenie. _Son?_ The young man's face appeared in her mind as well, and Queenie examined it curiously. _Late teens, early twenties, I'd say - quite the looker...if I was eighty years younger...there's sadness in those eyes, though, and he's seen things he shouldn't have had to, poor lad. A fighter, though, I'd say, if the set of his chin is any clue. And those scars...who's been using you as a knife sharpener, boychik?_

The image was wavering back and forth in Alice's mind, and Queenie, carefully probing, could see almost the child's entire life in a series of pictures and sensations - the feel of the baby cuddled softly against his mother's chest, his sleeping face quiet and still, his breath even - the toddler clinging to her legs, wailing, not understanding why he had to leave his Mum behind again - a shy plump child holding out a toad proudly for his mother's inspection, "I'm not a Squib after all, Mum, I'm not! And his name's Trevor."- an awkward young adolescent, head hanging, being scolded by an older woman as a group of young people who must have been his friends looked on - _to their credit they look more sorry for him than liable to tease_ , she thought - and then a tall, very serious young man who had taken his mother's and father's hands gently in his and explained that the Ministry had fallen, and Hogwarts was in dangerous hands, and that he didn't know when he could come back, but they were still fighting, he was still fighting, and he hoped he would make them proud... _proud_ , the word resonated in the woman's mind. _so proud, but happy, the boy should be happy, he always looks so sad, shiny things don't make him happy enough..please make the boy happy...is he happy?_

_I'll find out, I promise._ She turned to Healer Wriothesley. "He's put up enough barriers that it'll take a miracle for me to get past them, and she's focused on only one thing - whether her boy is happy."

"That'll be their Neville. He seems...contented enough, I suppose," the other woman said judiciously. "He was a big hero at the Battle of Hogwarts, second only to Harry Potter himself, and he's training to be an Auror now, like his parents. He's one of the ones Shacklebolt hired straight out of Hogwarts. He still comes in to see them regularly, though, doesn't miss a week now that he's out of school - he's due tomorrow, as a matter of fact."

_He's well and safe_ , she projected at Alice, wondering if she could be clearer that way. _He'll see you tomorrow. He's training to be an Auror, like you._

Alice's mind sparked bright happiness at first, but then sank into a well of pain. _Aurors die Aurors die Aurors die_...Queenie saw an image of the young man, fighting, falling, bleeding, tortured - saw Alice's grief and fear at the thought - felt her anguished conviction that this happened to Aurors sooner or later, her desire to have the boy free and clear and safe.

Queenie, who had spent many evenings as a young woman waiting up for her Auror sister, biting back her fears for Teeny's safety, quite understood the feeling. Hoping for reassurance, she projected an image of Minister Shacklebolt, a protective arm around the young man. This did indeed seem to soothe Alice a bit, and she sat down, plucking again at the bedsheet, her thoughts receding into a cloud of confused images and sensations, but the fear was still there, an undercurrent ever-present in the other woman's mind.

"Do you think you can work with them?" The Chief Healer looked at her inquiringly, clearly hopeful.

"I think there's potential. I don't know if I can cure 'em, mind you. There's permanent damage there, and it goes deep. But...there's still a bit of her left, at least, and possibly some of him behind those barriers. If I can reach anything, help them at all, I will."

"That's all any of us can ask, I suppose. Well, then, let me leave you to it."


	2. The Tavern-Keeper's Heart

Two hours later, Queenie left the Longbottoms to their spoon-fed luncheon, having learned very little more than she had that morning. She was convinced, however, that there was something of them left worth reaching, and more than ever, determined to make the effort. She was also hungry, and decided to pop into the Leaky Cauldron to get herself some lunch. _Haven't been in the place in months, and Kingsley said Tom sold it to a new owner. Wonder if they can cook?_

The Cauldron had indeed changed. It was bright and welcoming now, full of people chattering, laughing, flirting, and heartily enjoying their food. Light came in from new, wider windows to shine on cushioned benches and gold-polished wooden tables, while more intimate enclosures made from cozy couches and snug armchairs surrounded smaller tables or grouped invitingly around the great brick fireplace at one end of the room, which looked like it would be a haven of warmth on cold winter evenings. Plants, green and gold and bright with flowers, reached for the light in every corner, some of them singing to themselves or swaying their branches in intricate patterns. Queenie could almost feel the difference in her bones - the old Cauldron had been dark and rather dismal, but now it positively radiated comfort and cheerfulness, and she heartily approved of the alteration. The new owner turned out to be a surprisingly young woman, brisk and pleasant, with a reasonably-pretty face that became stunningly beautiful when she smiled. If Queenie had not been so very strong a Legilemens, she might never have known how exhausted young - _let's see...ah, Hannah, that's her name -_ was, or how long a week it had been. _Poor chick, you have been working hard, haven't you? But you're like Jakie in his bakery, aren't you, honey, putting everything you've got into making this place a refuge of light and happiness for people who've been through too much. Oh, my heart, I'm so glad there are still people like that in this world, even if Jakie's gone._ She returned Hannah's smile with interest, as the younger woman put down a plate in front of her. "That smells like heaven, honey."

She was rewarded with a thoroughly genuine smile. "Thank you! I hope you enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will. You cook like this, young lady, you'll have men and women both flocking to your door to fight for your hand," she teased.

Hannah smiled at her again, but the expression didn't reach her eyes this time, and Queenie realized she had hit a nerve when she felt the ache of an old wound in the younger woman's heart and heard her mind sigh, _But the only one I want is Neville, and he won't talk to me!_ along with an image that Queenie found remarkably familiar. 

Her eyes widened in surprise. _Now there's coincidence for you. I spend all morning working with the boy's mum, and the first girl I run into is pining after him...who's Neville to you, young Hannah?_ She probed gently into the girl's mind, as she turned to serve the customers at a nearby table. Queenie had never been one to worry too much about other people's privacy - she couldn't help it, it was all open to her anyway, and she knew perfectly well she could be trusted, so she had gotten rather in the habit of indulging her curiosity without concern.

And Hannah's mind had a wealth of information and opinions about young Neville. _Oh, my, honey, you have got it bad, haven't you?_ She saw:

_A pair of shy first-years making friends, Hannah giving Neville a photograph taken by her Auror father of his colleagues and their new baby son, before her father was killed and Neville's parents reduced to shadows of themselves..._

__

_A toad inquisitively wandering into her workspace in Herbology class, and being returned to his apologetic owner, sparking a conversation about pest control, Flutterby bushes, and plant defensive mechanisms that somehow ended up lasting half the afternoon..._

__

_Hannah sitting quietly with him fourth year after a class on the Unforgivable Curses, holding his hand while he wept for the parents he'd barely known, wishing she could do something to take away the pain that shook him so visibly, the pain he let no one else see..._

__

_Neville returning the favor and letting her sob on his shoulder when Cedric, the big-brother figure who had guided her through her first few years at Hogwarts, had been so brutally and unexpectedly murdered, just at the moment of triumph when he and Harry had won the Triwizard Tournament together..._

__

_Neville patiently tutoring her in Herbology, talking her through her anxiety attacks, fueling her confidence with gentle encouragement, his love and enthusiasm for growing things turning contagious..._

__

_The pair of them working contentedly together in the greenhouses, deeply happy in each other's company, not needing to speak a word, but also..._

__

_Conversations in their secret place by the lake, where they could talk about everything and nothing, no shame, no secrets, no fear..._

__

_The stunned bolt-to-the-heart feeling she'd gotten the day he'd bent close to help her prune a Fanged Geranium, and she'd realized he smelled just like the Amortentia Potion that Auror Tonks had passed around the evening before in the Common Room, "so you'll know what it smells like to you in case someone slips it into your drink"..._

__

_The way he'd waited for her outside the Common Room and held her, just a little too tightly, a little too long for friendship, the day the news had come about her mother and she'd had to leave, the way she'd held on to the feeling of his arms around her all that year away, the only little piece of heaven in her private hell..._

__

_The letters he'd sent, tentatively asking how she was, sending her news of Hogwarts kept determinedly upbeat - she only realized how much he'd left out later..._

__

_and then..._ Hannah's heart cracked open... _how she'd come back that final year to find everything changed, everything horrible, and Neville suddenly cold and indifferent to her, unwilling even to talk to her about anything but DA business, avoiding her, their old friendship suddenly a matter of no interest to him...had one year away made him forget everything? Had it - had she never mattered to him at all?..._

__

_And then, the pain of watching him tortured, beaten, slashed with knives and tormented with curses, always prevented from intervening on his behalf by one or another of her fellow Puffs, loving his courage beyond reason, and furious with him for throwing himself into danger, for taunting death and making her watch..._

__

_Despair, as she saw him charge a host of Death Eaters singlehandedly, challenging Voldemort directly to his face, knowing that she was about to watch him die...and then, fierce joy, as he'd shaken off the flaming Hat and drawn gleaming silver from its depths..._

__

_Watching him go off with Luna after the battle, her comforting hand in his, knowing that the beautiful young Ravenclaw was the choice of his heart now, and not her, if she had ever had a chance at all...and she hadn't seen him since, and no matter how hard she worked, she couldn't forget him, couldn't stop missing him..._

__

Queenie sighed sadly to herself. _Poor little chick. Why would he...that makes no sense. The way he looks at her in some of those memories - if he wasn't in love with her, just as much as she with him, I'll eat my hatpins. Why such a sudden change?_

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, she looked around her at the other customers, and gently sorted through the chaotic mass of thoughts to find individual minds, a process not unlike unraveling a knotted skein of yarn. Delicately, she slipped images of Neville into each of their minds, hoping some would recognize him and help give her some different perspectives.

Most did, as a matter of fact - he seemed rather famous around here. She closed her eyes momentarily, pretending she was savoring her food (and it was worth savoring, part of her noted), and unwove the threads, seeing: 

In the mind of the young second-year out with his family, after a day of shopping in Diagon Alley, a surge of awed hero-worship - _the Gryffindor, the one who kept us safe, the one who let the Carrows Crucio him rather than use it on me...and then stood up again after and walked me back to my dorm, laughing and joking with me, so I wouldn't feel bad about it either..._

In the mind of a plump older witch with dirt deeply ingrained under her fingernails, who greeted Hannah with warm affection as One of Her Own, there was a surge of maternal tenderness that almost rivaled Alice's - _Most promising Herbology student I've ever had...my dear, dear boy, I couldn't be prouder of him if he were my son...I only wish Alice and Frank could truly see what he's become...I must talk to Minerva about luring him away from the Aurors - I'm getting too old for all of this, and there's no one I could trust more with my students or my greenhouses..._

In the mind of a fiercely beautiful young redhead wearing a Holyhead Harpies jersey- _Ah, Neville, my least-annoying brother_ , and fond amusement brightened her eyes as she remembered the way his face had lit up last Christmas when her mother had sent him one of her traditional hand-knitted sweaters, too...

The man sitting across from her, brushing a strand of unruly dark hair from his forehead -- the famous Harry Potter, she realized with surprise, and were he and the redhead two of the young people she'd seen with Neville and the older woman in Alice's mind? It was hard to tell, they'd changed so much, but the scar and the glasses were familiar - and in his mind was a sense of regret mingled with respect, the memory of a hand clasped around his arm and the words - _"We're all going to keep fighting, Harry, you know that?" Loyalty I didn't do enough to return or deserve...I always underestimated him. Sorry, Nev, I should have been a better friend to you...maybe I can make it up to you in the future._

Queenie frowned gently to herself. _I think I'm only going to find what I'm looking for when I meet the young man himself. I think tomorrow, I'd best sit him down for a chat. If he deserves our Miss Hannah, and if he still cares for her, well, I'll know what to do._


	3. The Young Man Himself

The next day came, and Alice at least seemed pleased to see her, looking up with a brief smile before continuing her gentle, mindless rocking in her chair. Frank was methodically tearing apart a newspaper, carefully placing the torn pieces in a pile on the table, and did not seem to register her presence. "He seems to find the tearing motion soothing," Healer Wriothesley commented as she cleared away their breakfast dishes. "We give him the newspaper every morning, after it's had a chance to be read, and we use the scraps for papier-mache in the crafts room and to line the pets' cages, for the little kiddies who need something to distract themselves from being sick. Waste not, want not."

Queenie sat down next to them and reached, gently, for Frank's mind. The barriers were there again, clear and cold and strong, and she could not for the life of her find an opening. Gently, she projected a feeling of warmth, kindness, safety. Nothing. Alice's mind was a swirl of fog and mist, and Queenie could feel the nightmares she'd had the night before as if they were a storm that had recently passed through, now being gentled into a soft spring rain by the soothing motion of the rocking chair. Her emotions were still raw from the fear and grief in her dreams, though, and Queenie reached down into her own mental core, drawing light and healing from within, shining it softly on the tender spots in Alice's mind. It had an almost immediate effect - Alice's shoulders relaxed, and she sighed, deeply, happily. Encouraged, Queenie persisted, and was so caught up in what she was doing that she almost failed to sense when another presence entered the room. But the delight that appeared simultaneously in both Alice's and Frank's minds woke her from her trance, and she turned to see a very familiar face. 

She beamed at him. "You must be young Mr. Longbottom. I'm Queenie Kowalski, the new Healer working with your parents."

"Pleased to meet you." He offered a hand with instinctive good manners, but she could feel his uncertainty, and his wish to be entirely alone with his parents for a while. His relationship with them, she could tell, was a very private thing, and yet deep and dear to his heart. 

Understanding completely, she stood up. "I'll let you have your time with them in private, then, shall I? But when you're finished, would you mind joining me for a bit of a chat? I'd like to tell you some of what I've been feeling from them."

"Feeling?" he asked, curiously. _Oh, so Kingsley hasn't told him about me yet..._

"I'm a Legilemens, honey. One of the strongest they've ever identified, if I do say so myself. That's why Kingsley wanted me to work with them." A sudden, startled fear radiated from him immediately, though nothing of it appeared on his face - the idea of his emotions being visible to anyone was clearly nerve-wracking to him. _A very private young man, I see, one who doesn't confide in just anyone. Which makes it doubly revealing, that he opened up so much to our Hannah...and then closed himself off again...but I'll look at that later, now he needs to be here for his parents._

Her private thoughts aside, she gave him her most reassuring smile, and said quietly, "Don't you worry, honey. I haven't seen anything in your mind that ought to give you shame or that would make me think less of you. And to them -" she gestured at his parents, Alice beaming at her boy from her chair, Frank studying his face carefully as if he expected to sketch it, his fingers still tearing at the paper automatically - "to them, honey, you hung the moon. There might not be much left of what they were, but you should know, they still love their son with everything they've got, and they're awfully proud of you. Both of 'em." 

She could feel the sudden surge of tears to his eyes, could feel him will them down, and warmed to him. _It's all he's ever wanted, their love and pride. Oh, boychik, if you only knew how much you have...but that's what I'm here for, isn't it?_ "Don't you worry about it. Just be with them for a while, the way you always do. And know you're doing them a world of good."

A shy but brilliant beam of gratitude shone through his wariness. "Thank you."

She stood up and nodded to all three of them. "I'll take my leave now, and I'll see you in a little while. Take your time, there's plenty of it." 

There were always chores to be done in a hospital, and just because Frank and Alice were her primary responsibility didn't mean she couldn't help with other things. She could Scourgify, take vitals, prepare and administer healing potions, and cheer up the sick with the best of them - Lockhart, mind you, didn't need much cheering up, all she had to do was compliment his hairstyle to leave him preening and purring with delight. The time passed quickly, and after an hour or so, Neville emerged, ducking his head to avoid the curtain railings, tucking what looked like a piece of shiny paper carefully into his pocket. She was ready.

"Come sit with me a bit before you go, honey. I made cocoa. I've got seven children and seventeen grandchildren, my cocoa's practically a legend." 

He smiled shyly at her - _no wonder pretty Hannah can't get him out of her heart, with a smile like that..._ \- and took the mug she offered. A sip, and he raised his eyebrows at her, impressed. "It's better than Gran's." 

"I won't tell your Gran you said that, but thank you." She dimpled at him."I'd say I'm the best cook I know, but I ate at the Leaky Cauldron yesterday, and that pretty Hannah Abbott who owns the place now might have me beat."

He flinched for just a moment - his only outward reaction, but inside the name was like a bolt of lightning to his heart. Love and heartbreak, aching loss and deep regret flooded his mind, and for a moment there was nothing coherent, just a mass of painful emotion. He looked down at the table, knowing she knew, unwilling to have anyone know. 

"So you do care for her. She misses you, you know."

A flash of hope sprang up, brightening his eyes. "She does? I thought...I thought I'd made her hate me, I thought she'd never want to see me again after last year." _I had to, I had to, I couldn't let them see how much I...but she doesn't hate me?_

"Let who see, honey?"

"The Carrows." He practically spat the name, and she saw it open within him a well of hatred she'd've thought impossible in such a warm-hearted young man. _Torture, cruelty, death...evil had a face, two of them, Amycus and Alecto, may they rot in hell..._ she looked through his memories and shuddered visibly. 

He nodded, seeing her reaction. "So you see. And I was, I had to, I was making myself a target for them, to draw their fire away from the others. I'm a pureblood, and they valued that, they didn't want to actually kill me, so I had more leeway than others did...than Hannah did. Her mother was a Muggle, you know. That already set them against her - if they'd known that I was...that I'm in love with her, they'd've killed her, or worse, and made me watch. And I'd've had to choose between Hannah's life and fighting them...and either way, that choice would've broken me. I couldn't do it. I had to, to pretend she meant nothing to me, so they wouldn't notice her, wouldn't single her out. Gin and Luna helped - they stepped in to protect her whenever they could, because they could do it without raising suspicion, and they knew I couldn't stand it when the Carrows hurt her..." 

"Luna? The one you went off with after the battle?"

He blushed bright red. "We both needed...comfort, I suppose, after everything. And help to, to get over, um, the way we felt about certain people we couldn't...well. I think it worked for her, anyway, even if she didn't fall for me either. It didn't work for me. It only lasted a couple of months, whatever it was. We broke up after we realized we were going to be risking our friendship if we tried to go on much more. She'll always be one of my dearest friends, but...deep down I always saw Hannah when I kissed her, always wished it were her instead, and Luna knew, Luna understood, she always does."

The image of Luna in his mind intrigued Queenie. _There's fey in that girl, and the wisdom of the fey at that. Like Teeny's grandson Rolf, the one who took after Newt so much...maybe I should introduce them...she isn't right for Neville, he needs someone like our cozy Hannah, not someone otherworldly and only-partly-reachable - but Rolf is like that too..._ she shook her head, and drew her attention back to present company. "So why didn't you tell Hannah what you were doing, or at least explain it to her after the battle when it was safe, instead of going off with someone else?"

"I guess I...I just assumed she'd never...thought I'd killed any chance I had, and..." He was stammering now, but his feelings were stark inside his head. _I hurt her, I pushed her away, I proved I wasn't worthy of her, never was worthy of her anyway, so beautiful, so sweet, and I'm just awkward ordinary Neville, why would she look at me? I was making it all up anyway, hoping for too much, she'd never feel that for me, I don't dare..._

Queenie regarded him sternly. "She would and she does. That girl loves you, boychik. Every bit as much as you love her. And you just dump that 'I'm not worthy' crap in the trash where it belongs right now, you hear me? You're a hero, and a fine-looking young man to boot, any girl'd be lucky to have you. But that's not why she loves you, honey, not because you went and proved yourself worthy, not because you grew up handsome. In her eyes, you always were, even when everyone else saw the clumsy awkward kid. She sees you better than anyone else does - least, anyone who isn't a Legilemens - and she knows who you really are, heart and soul, and she loves you. Don't you dare throw that away. It's more precious than you know." _Oh, Jakie, Jakie, I miss you so much..._

"She...she loves me?" The rising light in his heart was almost too painful to bear. _I haven't lost her? There might be a chance, after all...I've got to go tell her, got to go beg her forgiveness, throw myself at her feet, something..._

_Ah, young men, so dramatic. But so very irresistible._ She smiled fondly at him, and said, only, "You'd best go do that, then. I'll let you know anything that happens with your parents, but you should know you're loved. By them, by her, by others." 

He grinned at her, a boyish grin, full of light and unhoped-for joy. "Thank you. For everything."

"It's my job, honey. And sometimes, my job is a pleasure." She kissed him on the cheek, a grandmother's kiss, and took his empty cocoa mug. "Now go, shoo, talk to Hannah." 

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted, and was down the stairs two at a time. _Ah, to have the energy of the young again - particularly a young man in love._


	4. A Long-Overdue Conversation

Neville's confidence had worn off somewhat by the time he reached the Cauldron, and his palms were sweaty as he reached for the door handle, hoping he wasn't making a terrible mistake. _Don't be ridiculous. If Healer Kowalski says it's true..._

_You've only known her for ten minutes or so. What makes you so sure she's not a prankster, or a con woman, or..._

_She saw what I was feeling in my head. Accurately. And when I came in - I've never seen Mum so relaxed and happy. This has to be genuine. It has to._

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked in. The room was almost deserted, it being just after opening on a Sunday, but Seamus, looking up from a table by the window where he and Dean were talking intently, called out, happily, "Neville! Long time no see!" 

Hannah, who had been wiping down a table, froze momentarily, but kept her back to him. He swallowed hard, praying to whoever was listening that he wasn't about to make a supreme ass of himself for no good reason, but forced himself to cheerfully return Seamus's greeting. 

"Join us, why don't you?" Dean waved an inviting hand at an empty chair, but Neville shook his head. 

"No, there's someone I need to talk to first." He glanced up at Hannah, who kept wiping vigorously though the table was sparkling clean, resolutely avoiding his eyes. 

Dean and Seamus exchanged a glance, and Seamus, who had been Neville's only companion in the Gryffindor seventh-year male dormitory, nodded knowingly. "You do that. It's about time."

He approached carefully, his heart in his mouth. "Hannah? Can I talk to you?"

She looked up, her lips set tightly. "I don't know. Can you, after all this time?"

_She has every right to be angry, you know. You owe her at least an apology, even if she doesn't accept it, even if Healer Kowalski is wrong,_ his conscience reminded him. "You're right. I'm sorry, Hannah, I truly am. I spent all of last year deliberately pushing you away, being as cold and rude and hateful as I could, and that's not what I really wanted, not what I really feel at all, and I'm sorry."

"Then why?" She looked up, and he could see her soft brown eyes were full of tears. _Oh, Merlin, sweetheart, I am a monster and a rat and totally not worthy of you..._ "What happened to us, Neville?" 

"I was afraid for you. I didn't want the Carrows to see...you know I was deliberately drawing their fire, don't you? I was counting on the fact that they weren't going to outright kill a pureblood unless they had to - but you didn't have that protection, they would have killed or tortured you to make me cooperate, if they knew I cared for you...and I couldn't bear that, Hannah, I'd rather cut out my heart than see you hurt."

"Seamus is a half-blood too, and you never hesitated to be friends with him," she snapped back, her cheeks flushed pink. "Did you think he didn't need protecting and I did?"

_Here goes._ He took her hand in his, noting that she did not, at least, pull away, and said, quietly, "I'm not in love with Seamus."

Her eyes widened, and she seemed unable to speak for two breaths, three...and then, forcing the words out as though she hated them, "What's Luna going to think?"

"Luna knows. She and I...we were never really...it was stupid, really stupid, we both just needed comfort after that horrible year, and I thought I'd lost any chance I might ever have had with you, that you hated me, but I kept wishing, whenever I was with her, that it was you. And I'm sure she wished I was Ron. Or maybe Harry. I was never quite sure...but the point is, it wasn't me. We split up a month or so into things, because we both knew it wasn't working. You're the one who has my heart, Hannah, you always have, and I know I've been a damned fool, and if you hate me, it's no more than I deserve, but I thought you ought to know. I love you."

The tears in her eyes had spilled over while he spoke, and one of them traced a path down her cheek. "I can't...can't hate you, Neville. I never could. I love you too, I've always loved you. I've missed you so much." 

He reached a hand to her cheek to brush the tear away, and before he knew it, he was bending down, her arms twining around his neck as she drew him to her. He had just enough time to register how soft and warm her lips were against his before they turned fierce and urgently demanding, as if she was trying to fit every moment they'd lost in the last year and a half into one all-encompassing kiss. Dizzily, he felt the universe spinning out of control around them, all its fire and brilliance condensed into the space between them, new stars and galaxies lighting up wherever they touched. When they finally, reluctantly broke apart, it felt to him as if everything around him had been dissolved and newly created, fresh and bright. 

That is, until Dean and Seamus started applauding. "It's a bloody good tavernkeeper," Seamus said judiciously - and rather louder than he needed to - "who can make a man drunk before she's even served him anything. You're a lucky man, Neville." 

"Luckier than I ever deserved to be." The only good thing about not kissing her right at this moment, he thought, was that he could actually see the way her eyes were shining as she looked back at him. 


End file.
